


Cheiloproclitic

by kmo



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Missing Scene, post-Savoreaux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:57:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmo/pseuds/kmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't stop staring at her lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheiloproclitic

**Author's Note:**

> bedannibal & cheiloproclitic (an erotic attraction to someone’s lips) for ingle-finch
> 
> Author’s Note: This scene takes place shortly after the dinner in Savoreaux

He can’t stop staring at her lips.

Plush, full, and luscious in the way they wrap themselves around psychiatric terms like  _anhedonia_  and  _alixythemia_ , caressing the argot of their chosen profession. How they pucker to enunciate the last syllable of his name. Her choice of dusky rose for day, and deep rouge for evening. How had he gone seven years without noticing them?

She’s talking to him now, asking him if the loss of Abigail Hobbs reminds him of similar losses in his life, attempting to draw out the memories of his sister like a fisherman with an obviously baited hook. He offers only the vaguest of replies, in the hope of tricking Bedelia into dominating the conversation during today’s session—for no other reason than to sample the rarefied pleasure of watching her speak.

Bedelia rattles off statistics about survivor’s guilt and early childhood trauma while his mind drifts back to last week and the meal they enjoyed together. He’d never seen her eat before. Bedelia had always been steadfast, but polite, in her refusal to attend his dinner parties. To see her delicately cut into her “veal,” (continental-style, he was pleased to note) and bring it at last to her mouth, the tiniest moan of pleasure escaping her lips as she tasted the meat. And  _oh_ , how she dabbed at her mouth demurely with her cloth napkin, her lips reddened and glossed by the sauce. To a man like himself, such a sight was a price beyond rubies and well worth waiting for.

He had touched himself later that night, unable to resist the fantasy of her lips around him, his phallus in her small, elegant mouth in place of the silver fork. His skin warms at the memory of it. His immaculately tailored suit suddenly feels tight, shrinking a size too small, especially in the pants. He blushes, hoping Bedelia’s sharp eyes have failed to notice his growing discomfort.

“I’m considering wallpapering my dining room in fuchsia and chartreuse argyle. What do you think, Hannibal?” she asks.

She speaks words, but he hears nothing but the silent beauty of her lips. “I’m sorry, could you repeat the question? I was distracted.”

“Obviously,” Bedelia says and checks her watch with a flick of her wrist. “I believe our hour is up.”

He frowns slightly in disappointment, saddened that their time together has flown so quickly. He gathers his things and Bedelia escorts him to the door.

“Until our next appointment, Dr. Du Maurier.”

Her lovely mouth quirks.  “Hannibal, I feel you would make more progress in your therapy if you paid less attention to my lips and more attention to the words that came out of them.”

He blanches, nearly feels the floor drop out from underneath him. “I did not mean…I would never.” he stammers. “You know how greatly I value your insight.”

Bedelia tosses long golden hair over her shoulder and shakes her head. “See you next week.” 


End file.
